


I'll Know My Name as It's Called Again

by doodlegirll



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Victorian, But it still might stomp on your feels a little bit, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Fate & Destiny, Limbo, M/M, Not near as angsty and heartbreaking as my last one, Reincarnation, Soulmates, Spiritual, ye be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlegirll/pseuds/doodlegirll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was not until after he had died, fallen to the gallows for loving another man, that Carlos began to believe in soulmates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Know My Name as It's Called Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mixxy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mixxy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Strange Captivation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061436) by [Mixxy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mixxy/pseuds/Mixxy). 



> So. I did a thing. I couldn’t help it; I am currently in a state of eager anticipation and absolute dread for the next chapter of Mixxy’s “Strange Captivation,” and my speculatory gears began to whir again as I thought about where she could take this, and thus, this was born.
> 
> This is technically an epilogue to my previous fic for Mixxy, “We Both Knew It Would Always End this Way,” which I wrote back at Christmas, but honestly, this can be read on its own. If you know the laws regarding homosexuality in Victorian England, you can put two and two together and not need to read anything prior to this (except “Strange Captivation”; don’t not read that story, dammit, it’s amazing!) to understand it. 
> 
> Mixxy, love, here you go. :) I hope you enjoy! This little plot bunny was rabid, and decided my elbow was a lovely place onto which to latch and gnaw until I wrote this for you. :) Thank you for writing your amazing fic, and allowing me to write a fic of the fic...AGAIN! :D 
> 
> (Title taken from Mumford & Son’s “The Cave”)

 

In the end, death had not been painful. It had been swift, and sudden, and very, very much without any pain at all, which surprised Carlos. From what he had been told, and had seen whilst walking past the courthouse some days while in town running errands, hanging had seemed like such a painful way to die, especially if you were one of the unlucky few to not die right away, and instead was forced to hang there until you eventually ran out of air and suffocated, finally ceasing the jerking and kicking that came with the struggle to hold on to life.

But, in the end, it had not been so bad. He did not even remember falling, which he supposed was a blessing.

He _could,_ however, remember the feeling of the rope around his neck as it had been tightened, and could still feel it then, like a phantom limb. He had not been given the dignity of a bag over his head to shield out the sight of the small group of five or six men that had gathered to bear witness to the event, and he supposed that could be attributed to his being a man of color, and he was certain his crime had aided in his treatment.

Still, in a way, he was thankful. At least, in his final moments, he had been given the chance to see the sky one last time as it turned a brilliant shade of pink and orange, had gotten to feel the warmth of the sun on his swollen and bruised face one last time.

Slowly, very slowly, Carlos began to become aware that he was, well… _aware._ He was seeing, and feeling, and while the place where he found himself was entirely without sound, as he called out a greeting in hopes of perhaps an answer, he found that he could, indeed, hear his voice. His feet were firm against something, though it was seemingly nothing. And while he was not sure what he had expected to find waiting for him after the actual moment of death; he had almost expected to not feel anything at all, to instead be forced to spend eternity in never ending limbic states, or perhaps he would simply cease to be, and he would not even be aware of it. His Christian upbringing had taught him all his life that he would be greeted by either the eternal paradise of heaven, or the eternal damnation of hell. And whilst Carlos had believed that he would, indeed, be met by something, be it heaven or hell, he had not expected this.

He was surrounded, entirely, by the swirling patterns of what he assumed were stars. They resembled the deep inky vastness of space with stars twirling and curling around above and below him in entrancing dances, in clusters and whorls that reminded him greatly of milk as it was poured into tea. It was absolutely breathtaking, and Carlos stared in awe as the stars gently coalesced into the familiar constellations of the night sky. Surely such a display of pure _excellence_ was heaven!

He was brought out of his reverie by what greatly resembled the sound of chimes. He turned to find himself completely enveloped in a yellowish white light, though how far it was away from him, he was not sure. For a moment, he wondered if this was the gate to heaven beyond this divine place, and as a figure began forming within the center of the light, he was almost certain that this must be the case, and that this was a herald of the Lord sent to collect him…or, perhaps, rebuke him. Carlos’s stomach churned at the thought of being cast out of such a place of inexplicable wonder and peace.

Perhaps, if he were truly destined to burn within the lakes of fire and suffering in hell for the crimes and wrongdoings he had committed in life, he could convince whoever it was that was approaching him if he could instead stay here, but as the figure drew closer, he began to suspect that this would not be an option.

Not for him. Not for a man convicted of committing the crime of loving another man.

Even if that man had been the most wonderful thing to ever happen to Carlos in his short twenty one years of life.

Fear, which had not been present even as he had stood over the trapdoor of the gallows, even as he had said his final prayer, even as they had beaten him, suddenly stabbed at his chest, and he swallowed as the figure grew more and more distinct. He took a deep breath, and tried to remain as collected as possible as he stood still, patiently awaiting whoever it was that was coming for him.

Then, quite unexpectedly, the light that had surrounded the shape disappeared, and the sound of the chimes vanished along with it, leaving Carlos to blink against the shapes the light had left on the back of his eyelids as his vision adjusted back to the ethereal landscape before him. The figure, however, was much more defined than it had been just moments before, with its – his, Carlos realized – features much more pronounced: dressed in cotton pajamas, he was neither tall nor short; a shock of blond hair; confused, but bright, blue eyes…

Carlos’s heart leapt into his throat, and he sputtered for a grasp on words as the boy gazed around him in rapt intrigue.

“Cecil?” He whispered, not daring to raise his voice any louder, lest it be lost to him within the swirling stars around him.

Several emotions passed through him all at once as Cecil’s eyes met his: confusion (how was he here? How was this possible?), apprehension (what if it’s a trick? Have I been wrong, and this is truly hell, where I am doomed to be met with a hallucination of the man I love for all eternity?), anger (why would God play such a cruel trick?), and love (he’s _here_ ), and he found himself suddenly unable to move as Cecil took a step towards him.

“Carlos?” He whispered back.

Carlos nodded, and a huge grin spread across Cecil’s face as he rushed forward. Carlos caught him in his arms, and he was relieved to find that Cecil was, indeed, very solid, which disproved Carlos’s previous idea that he could be nothing more than an enigma sent to haunt him. Cecil threw his arms around Carlos’s torso, and Carlos held him close as Cecil buried his face in Carlos’s shoulder, taking in several ragged breaths, as though trying not to cry, before he pulled back, and Carlos leant their foreheads together. Cecil smiled through the tears that fell down his face as he brought a hand up to tangle his fingers in Carlos’s curls.

“How is this possible?” Carlos whispered. “I’m dead. I _know_ I am. I was hanged. Unless this is a dream…”

“If it’s a dream,” Cecil said. “I don’t want to wake up.”

“But how?” Carlos demanded again, his voice still soft as he relished in the warmth of Cecil’s body pressed close to his.

“I…I don’t know.” Cecil admitted. His eyes flicked downwards as his gaze roved over Carlos, as though he, too, were making sure he was real, and he gasped. “Carlos, your neck!”

“My neck…?” Carlos brought a hand up to his neck, and his fingers brushed against raised flesh that felt as though it were raw, the skin broken open, and it was warm to the touch, as though it should be burned, and Carlos pressed against it to see if it stung; there was no pain.

“Oh, Carlos,” Cecil breathed, pressing a hand to his mouth in horror. “Oh, Carlos, I am _so sorry._ ”

With a start, Carlos realized that what he was feeling must be where the noose had been around his neck. Suddenly, all too suddenly, he realized how bad it must look, especially to Cecil, who had not been at his execution, thankfully, and he fumbled with the collar of his torn and dirty shirt to try and hide it from sight, wishing he had his usual strings to tie it with.

“Oh, Carlos, please forgive me!” Cecil cried as fresh tears began to fall again. “This is all my fault!”

Carlos instinctively reached out and grabbed Cecil, pulling him close again, and held him tightly as the younger man cried into his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s alright.” He soothed as he stroked Cecil’s blond hair. “It’s alright. It’s not your fault.”

“But it is!” Cecil wailed.

“Shhh, no it’s not.” Carlos said. “It’s not. Calm down and stop crying, Cecil, it’s okay.”

After a few moments, Cecil did calm down, and he pulled away from Carlos’s shoulder and sniffled once.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized again.

Carlos smiled and very gently ran his thumb across Cecil’s cheek. “Don’t be.”

Cecil sniffed again. “Carlos?” He dared quietly. “Where are we? Why…why are we here?”

Before Carlos could even open his mouth to answer, there was a loud crash, greatly resembling a thunderclap as it resounded through the space around them. Cecil yelped and jumped in Carlos’s arms, and Carlos tightened his grip on the young viscount.

Out of nowhere, three new figures had materialized before their eyes. One was a tiny older woman with long grey hair done up in an elaborate braided bun. She was dressed all in white, the dress that wrapped around her flowing and delicate, as though it were blowing in a nonexistent wind. She had a wrinkled, but kind, almost motherly face, and she was smiling as she walked towards the two men. Behind her were two very tall creatures, both a deep black in color, with what appeared to be four wings, two on each side, covering what sound have been their faces. Eyes blinked at them from within the feathers of the wings, and Carlos knew exactly what they were, despite having never seen one depicted in such a manner before.

Angels.

The old woman and the two Angels stopped a few feet in front of Cecil and Carlos, and she clasped her hands together before her as she gazed at them for a moment, taking in their trembling forms as they clung to one another, before she finally spoke.

“I believe I may have the answers you seek.” She said, her voice uncharacteristically smooth and silky, despite her weathered and aged appearance. “Do not be afraid.”

The two young men allowed themselves to relax as Carlos released his grip on Cecil, and they stepped apart. Cecil kept a firm grip on Carlos’s hand.

“Are…are you God?” Cecil dared hesitantly.

The old woman shook her head, her smile never wavering.

“I am Josephina,” she said. “I am the Keeper of the Angels.”

“Keeper of the Angels?” Cecil asked, cocking his head to the side slightly in the way he did when he was curious.

Josephina nodded. “Yes. I watch over the Angels of the Lord, and make sure that they are cared for, and loved. I protect them, as a mother would her children, and keep them safe from those who would wish to do them harm.”

“Angels can be harmed?” Carlos asked.

“But of course they can!” Josephina said, her eyebrows rising in surprise. “Angels are very sensitive and fragile creatures, despite what you may or may not believe about them. They are the guardians of humanity, and humanity is often unkind, dirty, filled with so much negativity and cruelty that sometimes, it becomes too much for an Angel, a creature of pure love and loyalty, to bear.”

Carlos blinked at the two Angels behind Josephina. Their many eyes were fixed on him and Cecil, unblinking as they took them in, and Carlos felt his head begin to throb as he stared a fraction of a second too long. He looked away, instead at Josephina.

“Are we Angels, then?” Cecil asked, squeezing Carlos’s hand. “Is this heaven?”

Josephina laughed. “Oh, goodness no, child!” She said. “This is not heaven, and you are not Angels. Angels have been around since the dawning of time, before all that you know was even created. This place,” she gestured around them, and Carlos allowed his attention to stray back to the magnificent display of celestial excellence, “Is the Realm of Possibility. It lies between the mortal world below, and the gates of heaven above. It is a place where some are met with the choices they have made in the past, and must make in order to continue.”

“So this is judgment?” Carlos was beginning to feel more and more uneasy, especially with the eyes of the Angels watching his every move.

Josephina shook her head. “Oh, no, child, that is for God to cast, not I.” She said kindly. “This is a place of choice, not of providence. Free will is the greatest gift that could be given to humanity by the Lord. Remember that as we continue from here.”

“But what does that mean?” Carlos pressed. “Why am I here? Why is Cecil here?” He pulled Cecil a bit closer. “He should go back, if he’s been brought here to influence anything about my decisions.”

“No!” Cecil protested, turning to face Carlos. “I want to be here! If I’m here, I’m here for a reason, Carlos. I’m sure I’ll wake up again when this…when this is all over, and I probably won’t even remember it happening.”

Josephina regarded them with a sad smile, her ageless eyes filled with immeasurable wisdom.

“Only those that have left the mortality of earth can enter here.” She said, quietly, kindly.

Carlos felt his blood run cold, and he felt his heart stop for one, agonizing moment as the realization of what Josephina meant dawned on him. He supposed, briefly, that this must be what death actually _felt_ like: the harsh, cold chill of the truth inescapable, unable to be reversed.

He felt Cecil stiffen beside him as he, too, finally came to know what Josephina meant.

“A-Are you saying that…that I’m…” He squeaked, unable to finish the sentence.

Josephina nodded.

“Quite dead, I’m afraid.” She said apologetically.

“But…” Cecil sputtered, his blue eyes round with an animalistic fear that Carlos had never seen before. “But…I don’t understand!”

“The important thing to understand about death, love,” Josephina said softly. “Is that death cannot be understood.”

Cecil swooned, and Carlos reached out and caught him in his arms before he could fall. Cecil looked dazed, his blue eyes glassy with shock, and Carlos very gently rubbed circles into his back and shoulders. Carlos had known he was dead from the moment he had become aware of his presence here, but Cecil – his poor Cecil – was only just realizing it. He could not imagine that there was any real difference between him finding out Cecil was dead, thus the reasoning for him being here, and Cecil himself finding out he was dead, but he knew it was hard to grasp nonetheless. Being on the outside looking in could be drastically different.

After a few moments, Cecil finally began to come back around, his eyes becoming more focused, and his breathing slowly evened out. He still trembled slightly as he pulled away from Carlos to look back at Josephina.

“W-Why are we here?” He asked. “You said that only some come here. Why?”

“The Realm of Possibility is a place of reflection, and decision.” Josephina explained. “It is true that only few find themselves here after leaving their lives on earth behind. It is a place where one is able to look back on their lives, and the decisions that led them here, and make a very simple decision: let it go, and move on to paradise in heaven, or hold onto it, and return to earth in a new life to begin again. So very often it is not one, but two people that make their way here, and love is usually the cause. When love is true, and beyond comparison, it transcends all of time and reason. The Realm of Possibility allow for those who have been separated to choose to stay, or go. I have seen many wait for years here in solitude for their loved ones to join them, so that the decision can be made together, instead of apart.

 “There are times, dears, when destiny is not kind to those that fall in love. Far too many times, I have seen two people in love ripped apart by pride and circumstance, and there is no greater pain in all the world than being unable to be with that who you love most in the world.”

“But what does that have to do with us?” Carlos, ever the inquisitive mind, asked. He felt Cecil’s hand slip into his, and squeeze it gently, and he knew that Cecil understood as well what Josephina was beginning to allude to.

Josephina smiled.

“You, my loves, are lucky. Do you believe in destiny?”

Carlos shook his head, but Cecil nodded.

“Let me assure you, whilst the greatest gift to humanity is, indeed, free will, destiny is still a prominent feature in any human being’s life, but especially in love.” She gazed at them again. “Do you believe in soul mates?”

This time, Carlos took a moment to reflect. _Did_ he believe in soulmates? Did he truly believe that there was, indeed, a complementary soul out there for everyone in love?

Was Cecil _his_ soulmate?

Slowly, he nodded. Cecil followed suit.

Josephina smiled. “Those who are truly meant to be together – destined to love one another – will always find a way, even though it may not always be easy, and it may not always be as clearly cut as it would seem. Those like the two of you, who are soulmates, that are unable to be together for whatever reason, are given the chance to begin again, a do-over, a reversal, if you will.”

“What do you mean?” Carlos asked.

“The two of you are here, within the Realm of Possibility, because you are being faced with a choice.” Josephina explained. “Your first option is simple: you may choose to stay here, to proceed into heaven, and be together there, as you are now. You will remain there for all eternity, in the glow of the rest you deserve.”

“But…” Cecil frowned. “Isn’t…isn’t it a _sin_ for a man to love another man?”

Josephina rolled her eyes, and Carlos was slightly taken aback by the gesture.

“Love is love, my dear.” She said. “God created love to be pure, and innocent, and without restraint. It is humanity that has put limitations upon the nature of love. God does not see love as anything that should be contained to a specific bowl of reality, dears. Your loving another man is no different from a man loving a woman in the eyes of the One who created you for each other.”

Carlos blinked. All his life, he had been taught that it was blasphemous for a man to lie with another man, that it was a sin that would be punishable by burning within the fiery pits of hell forever.

And yet…all the times he had kissed Cecil, had held him, had thought of him, had felt the surge of affection and love he knew to be real, had felt the other man’s skin on his…he had never been able to wrap his mind around the idea of a God that could condemn such a beautiful phenomenon.

Now, very suddenly, everything was becoming very clear.

“And what of our second option?” Carlos questioned.

“Your second option is much more difficult, and is not a decision that should be taken lightly.” Josephina warned. “While your first option is to let go of the world, the lives, you both left behind, and enter into heaven with one another, your second option is to return to earth in a second life, a rebirth, to try again. You will reenter the world of mortality, perhaps not in the same time you have come from now, and live again as mortals, once more bound by the laws of humanity, and thus the margins therein. It will not be easy, and you will remember nothing from your previous life, even the life you had together. You will be made new, with perhaps different names, faces, or personalities, but you will, indeed, still be _you._ You will be apart, and have to live through the drones of life in order to find one another again.

“But,” She paused and smiled as the two men cast sideward glances at one another. “There is one promise I can assure you: you _will_ find one another. It may not be the surest or clearest path, and it may be fraught with loss and hardship, but I assure you, you will be together again.”

“But if we decide to go, and we’re apart…how do you _know_ we’ll find each other again? And be able to be together?” Cecil asked.

Josephina chuckled. “You are soulmates, in this life, and the next, my dear.” She assured him. “The heart knows. And it will find a way.”

Cecil turned and looked back at Carlos, his expression full of an uncertainty that Carlos felt at the core of his bones. He looked away from the young viscount and once again took in the spectacle before them, at the swirling stars and effervescent colors, and wondered, vaguely, what to do.

On the one hand, he could decide to stay, and enter heaven with Cecil at his side, and being with him, without ever having to part from him again. If he went, and returned to earth, the threat of separation weighted heavy on his heart, and he wasn’t sure that if one of them was to die before the other again, that this would be an option once more.

On the other hand, there was the knowledge that they were being offered the opportunity that so many had only dreamed of, even if it had required their deaths to achieve it: they were being offered the change to return, to begin again as new beings, new souls, with new beginnings and new endings, with new possibilities and new memories and new chances to love and be loved.

All at once, Carlos knew what his choice was.

As tempting as it was to say yes, and stay, it was even more tempting to say no, and return, and experience what it was like to fall in love with Cecil all over again.

This time, perhaps, fate would be kinder to the both of them.

He turned to Cecil, and reached out and took his hand.

“I love you.” He said. “And I want to be with you. But…this was never supposed to happen. Not like this. You were supposed to live, to get married to Dana, to have children, see the world. You weren’t supposed to die.”

Cecil smiled softly, and raised his free hand to gently caress Carlos’s stubbled jaw.

“Wherever you go, I’ll go.” He said quietly. “I don’t want to be without you. Not again.”

Carlos opened his mouth to protest, but Josephina interrupted him.

“Cecil did not choose this, dear.” She reminded him. “His death was not at his own hand, or at the hand of others, as yours was, but at the hand of fate. It is possible to die of a broken heart, my loves. Quite literally so.”

Carlos looked back at Cecil, and the look in the younger man’s blue eyes made his heart skip a beat. They were filled with anguish, with unspeakable pain and internal suffering, and they were rimmed with red as tears welled in the corners. With a start, Carlos realized that he was looking into the wounds of Cecil’s final moments, which mirrored the rope burns on Carlos’s neck.

“Oh, Cecil,” he whispered, hooking a finger beneath Cecil’s chin as Cecil ducked his head, averting his gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Carlos.” Cecil assured him. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over, and nothing more can be done about it. We’re here, and we’re together, and that’s all that matters now.”

“We can stay here.” Carlos offered. “We can stay here, and be together, like this, forever. If you want.”

Cecil smiled again, and pressed his forehead to Carlos’s, ghosting his lips over the valet’s.

“Wherever you go, I’ll go.” He repeated softly.

Carlos captured his lips with his own, gently taking Cecil’s face in his hands, kissing him with everything he had, everything he had wanted to say, everything he had ever felt. He kissed him deeply, as though he were trying to fuse their souls together, and he felt Cecil return the gesture with vigor, and Carlos knew that the choice he was about to make for the both of them was worth it.

His soulmate.

They pulled apart and stared intently into each other’s eyes for several moments before Carlos looked away, and turned back to face Josephina and the Angels.

“We’ll go.” He said. “We’ll return to earth.”

Josephina smiled. “I figured that this would be the path you chose.” She said. She unclasped her hands and raised them above her head, and both of the Angels at her side reached out and took them with impossibly long fingers, curling around them gently. Her hands began to shimmer and glow faintly as she pulled away from the Angels’ touch. Tiny particles that closely resembled the starry landscape around them danced in her palms as she held out her hands to Carlos and Cecil.

“Take my hands.” She said. “I will guide you back to earth and into your new lives.”

Carlos turned one last time to Cecil, and squeezed his hand tightly. He smiled at him.

“See you soon, love.” He said.

Cecil smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”

With that, they reached forward and grasped Josephina’s fingers. Everything swam around them, and then, nothingness.

They were still holding each other’s hands.

 

...oOo...

 

On February 18th, 1981, at 10:22 pm, a baby boy was born. He was neither long nor short, did not weigh much or little, with a shock of snowy blond hair, and bright, almost luminous lavender eyes.

His mother, a flighty, nervous woman, named him Cecil.

Cecil Gershwin Palmer.

 

...oOo...

 

On August 27th, 1983, at 7:30 am, another baby boy was born. He was a healthy eight pounds, two ounces, with big brown eyes, and his parents’ dark, caramel colored skin. He was born bald, and would not grow his first springy curls until he was well into his eighth month of life.

His parents named him Carlos.

Carlos Emilio Ramirez.

 

...oOo...

 

The date is June 15th, 2012, and Cecil cannot contain his excitement as he recounts the town meeting the new scientist had called earlier that day. He giddily takes another sip of coffee, now lukewarm in his favorite mug, and smiles as the prerecorded message from a sponsor ends, and he’s back on the airwaves.

He talks about the mysterious man’s hair, his coat, his skin, his eyes, and how everything about him is the model of _sheer perfection_. Even his name, Carlos, rolls from Cecil’s tongue like melted butter, tasting very faintly of vanilla and caramel.

“…he grinned, and everything about him was perfect.” Cecil gushed into his microphone. “And I fell in love _instantly_.”

 

...oOo...

 

Cecil can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, he can’t see, and he can’t gather up enough air to gasp out even a single syllable as he reads the news report his intern had handed him describing the carnage occurring beneath Lane 5 of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Fun Complex.

Carlos – beautiful, perfect, lovely Carlos – is dead. Bloody, beaten, and dead.

And Cecil is helpless to save him, stuck in his booth, bound by his duty as a radio professional to remain at his post and narrate to his listeners the final moments of his beloved Carlos.

His purple eyes fill with tears as he chokes on the lump at the back of his throat.

He feels like he’s dying, like his heart is breaking clean in two, and he’s certain there is no way he can survive this kind of pain.

Beneath all of it is the odd feeling that he has been here before, has felt this pain before. Cecil has grown up in Night Vale, and death is no stranger to him, even deaths involving close friends or relatives.

But Carlos. Carlos’s death feels…familiar, the horrible, empty aching in his chest all consuming, threatening to overwhelm him and drag him to the depths of hell in a world without the wonderful scientist to make the days brighter, the science neater, Night Vale lovelier. He thinks, perhaps, he is projecting, though from what, he does not know.

And then, _then,_ like a blessing from the gods above, his intern rushes back in, their name displaced with their genderless face, and they take him by the shoulders and shake him as he sobs.

They tell him of the miracle that has occurred.

Carlos is alive.

And so, so is Cecil.

 

...oOo...

 

As he lays his head on Carlos’s shoulder as they sit on the trunk of Carlos’s car, staring up at the lights dancing above the Arby’s, Cecil sees a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. He glances towards it, and notices that in the shadows of the façade of the building stands a figure, tall and omnipresent, with four black wings covered in eyes.

One of Old Woman Josie’s angels.

Cecil blinks, and the angel is gone.

Cecil shrugs it off.

Angels aren’t real.

He doesn’t know why, when he finally succumbs to sleep that night, images of the gallows swaying in the breeze of the early morning sunlight haunt his dreams.

 

...oOo...

 

 

There are times, fleeting little moments of frill and fancy like butterflies in a field of daffodils, that Cecil almost feels like he’s living in a state of recurrence. He sometimes feels as though he has been here before, done this before, seen this before, felt this way before, even though in his discernible memory he knows he has not. There isn’t a logical explanation behind the déjà vu he sometimes experiences, and so, he allows the moments to pass, and he forgets about them.

Still, sometimes, every once in a while, Cecil will awaken to the soft feeling of Carlos’s palms on his abdomen, will be mesmerized by the sight of Carlos’s deft fingers as they button – and unbutton alike – his shirt slowly, surely, as though he has seen those perfect, dark hands doing the very same gestures and motions before, but the thoughts that accompany the ephemeral mental images are cloudy, hazy in his mind, and he tells himself to not be so silly.

Yet, he doesn’t care. Because those moments only ever involve thoughts and feelings of intense love and adoration for his scientist, his Carlos, and he supposes they are nothing more than small fantasies, or perhaps the tail end of dreams he has forgotten until now.

He sighs contentedly as he curls himself further into the side of his husband, lying his head on his bare chest as their naked bodies meld into one another, as though they are sharing a single pocket of reality, sharing the same life, the same heart.

 _Soulmates,_ he tells himself, smiling as he traces the lines of the tattoo of a strand of DNA along Carlos’s collarbone.

And Cecil, as he is lulled to sleep with the smell of fresh linen, olive oil, and lavender on the tip of his memory and the sound of Carlos’s heartbeat beneath his ear and thrumming beneath his fingertips, reminds himself that he doesn’t believe in past lives anyway.  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I know that Cecil Baldwin - you know, the actor? - has a birthday on February 18th, according to his Facebook page, and I sort of took liberties with how old my own Cecil and Carlos headcanons are with their dates. I decided I wanted Carlos to be a Virgo, so I plugged in the dates that fall under the zodiac of Virgo into a random generator, and that’s how I got his birthday. :) (I also gave Carlos a middle and last name…) I also decided that since “End This Way” was in Cecil’s POV, I wanted this one to be primarily in Carlos’s, but I liked that his was in past tense, and then it switched to first-tense with a Cecil POV in the modern era. :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! I had A LOT of fun writing this. :) 
> 
> Again, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to Mixxy for letting me have this honor, once more!


End file.
